


Pockets

by deathishauntedbyhumans



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Dark, Emotional Baggage, Future, Gun Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder, One-Sided Attraction, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Pining, Repetition, Talking, Temporary Character Death, Therapy, Time Travel, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Yikestm - Freeform, dark themes, therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:59:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathishauntedbyhumans/pseuds/deathishauntedbyhumans
Summary: Dakota goes to therapy. It's more helpful than you might think.





	Pockets

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Карманы](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15513162) by [fandom_Disney_and_DreamWorks_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Disney_and_DreamWorks_2019/pseuds/fandom_Disney_and_DreamWorks_2019), [Rainy_Elliot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainy_Elliot/pseuds/Rainy_Elliot)



His pockets felt heavy. 

Dakota pushed open the door to the therapist’s office calmly, features as impassively blank as those of the receptionist that glanced up at him upon his arrival. She gestured vaguely at the sign-in clipboard before going back to her typing, nails clicking on keys in the otherwise quiet of the waiting room. 

Dakota waited. 

“Vinnie?” A voice like the tinkling of a bell finally interrupted the clicking, and Dakota stood to attention on autopilot as the door to the offices opened and a young woman with fierce red hair poked her head out. “Come on in.” She smiled at him. Dakota smiled back. It was forced. 

“It’s good to see you,” the woman told him. “It’s been a while.” He settled onto the couch in front of her and stuck one hand into one pocket. She offered him another smile. “How have you been?”

“If I tell you something that puts me or others in danger, you have to wait until the end of the session to report it, right?” 

Dakota could feel the change in the air as soon as the question left his mouth, tearing roughly at his lips as it passed. The woman across from him looked startled for a good moment before she seemed to force herself to recover. 

“Yes,” was all that she replied. 

That was good enough. 

“Cavendish dies,” he stated bluntly. The woman’s eyes went near-imperceptibly wider. “A lot. Every damn day, he does something ridiculous, and leaves me to pick up the pieces. And every day, I go back in time to save his life.” He bit out a harsh laugh. “He has no idea. He thinks I’m a no-good slacker who has no idea how to do my job. I guess he’s right, sorta. I keep savin’ him, even though I’m not s’posed to. That isn’t the way to do my job. I don’t care anymore. I thought I cared, the first time. The second. The third… But I don’t. Because, at the end of the day, if he’s alive to tell me off about how terrible I am...” Another huff of humourless laughter slipped out. “Then he’s still  _ alive _ . I’m a fool for doing it. I’m a fool for—“ He swallowed. Hard. “—for loving him. But I do. Damn, I do. If me dying would keep  _ him _ from ever dying again, I would trade myself in a second. I don’t think that’d work, though. At least, not anymore. There are too many of me in the timestream. At least... I think there are. We don’t really keep in touch.” He shifted in his seat, caught the eye of the woman across from him. She looked as though she was fighting to stay calm, to keep her mouth shut, to keep from blurting out something she might regret. Dakota understood the sentiment. 

“I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen him die. How many ways, too. ‘though sometimes I dream about it, and that sucks, because the nightmares are almost worse than the real thing. Piles and piles of dead bodies—“ A glazed look entered his eye. “All with Cav’s face. All staring at me. Because I couldn’t save them.” He snorted, gaze clearing. “And then I wake up, and the real Cav calls me out for sleeping too much, when I should be working.” He shook his head. “He has no idea.” 

“You realise that I will have to report this?” The woman’s voice was not unkind. It was sympathetic, but it was also laced with a horror that she couldn’t quite mask. Dakota nodded once, a quick, hard thing. 

“Yeah. Can I finish talking, first?”

The woman nodded, so he does. He spilled everything to her: his feelings, his insecurities. The lies he told to Cavendish. The deaths he remembered, the deaths he wanted to forget. The Island. 

When he was finished, his voice was hoarse. The woman stood up, assumedly to usher him out, and Dakota mirrored her action. 

He withdrew his hand from his pocket. 

The woman only had time to gasp before the shot rang out. 

The gun was a slick metal, with a silencer that was perfected less than twenty years ago. It was only ever given out to top agents at the BoTT. Dakota had been given access to it without Cavendish’s knowledge. He intended for things to stay that way.

Dakota slid it back into his pocket and quietly left the room, making sure the door was shut behind him. 

He slipped into the time vehicle without incident. Nobody paid him any mind as he left the building alone. Nobody paid him any mind as he shut the car door. 

He slid the gun out of his pocket again and dropped it into the paper sack beside him. When he stopped and exited the car, it was without a word that he handed that bag over to the Dakota standing outside of the therapist’s office. The Dakota there accepted it without a word, and walked away. 

His pockets felt light. 

Dakota pushed open the door to the therapist’s office calmly, features as impassively blank as those of the receptionist that glanced up at him at his arrival. She gestured vaguely at the sign-in clipboard before going back to her typing, nails clicking on keys in the otherwise quiet of the waiting room. 

Dakota waited. 

“Vinnie?” The voice like the tinkling of a bell finally interrupted the clicking, and Dakota stood to attention as the door to the offices opened and the young woman with fierce red hair poked her head out. “Come on in.” She smiled at him. Dakota smiled back. It felt much more natural, now to smile. 

“It’s good to see you,” the woman told him. “It’s been a while.” He settled onto the couch in front of her, a small smile still on his face. She offered him another smile in return. “How have you been?”

“My depression’s been acting up,” he stated, making a face. She nodded sympathetically. 

“Is there anything you can think of off the top of your head that would cause the negative thinking?” she asked, and Dakota pretended to consider the question a moment, tilting his head a little to the left the way he normally did when he was considering something. 

“Nope,” he said, smiling apologetically and shrugging.  _ Lying _ . “Nothing really comes to mind.” 

He stuck his hands into his pockets as he settled back against the cushions of the sofa, and let himself relax as the woman across from him, eyes bright and alive, pressed her hands together in her lap and leaned forward to better converse with him. 

It wouldn’t be enough; it never was. But for now, his pockets and his heart were light.

**Author's Note:**

> I uh... yeah. Wow. I wrote this on my lunch break at work. Blame @priestlyislove for inspiring my angst. That's what I do. 
> 
> Kudos/comments are love. Come scream at me on tumblr @deathishauntedbyhumans


End file.
